


Shape of Song Unspoken

by aliatori



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, M/M, Siren!Ignis, daywalker!Gladio
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-15
Updated: 2018-03-15
Packaged: 2019-03-31 20:08:28
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,085
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13982412
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aliatori/pseuds/aliatori
Summary: Gladio's weekend of secluded camping leads to a chance encounter.





	Shape of Song Unspoken

There are certain things Gladio expects when dawn arrives: sunlight dappling through the patchy canopy overhead, a thousand glittering reflections of that light on the blades of dewy grass, the soothing roar of the waterfall nearby, and the persistent ache in his bones that always accompanies the sun. He notices nothing out of the ordinary—if you consider the breathtaking landscape ordinary, which Gladio doesn’t—as he gets dressed and begins to break down his campsite.

That is, until he hears the song.

Beautiful doesn’t scratch the surface of description. It’s like saying the universe is big, or that the sun is bright—right in theory, but so inadequate that it may as well be wrong altogether.

There’s a definite vocal element to it, lilting notes woven together by an expert baritone, but raw, mystical power buoys the sound. Hell, Gladio recognizes magic when he sees it. Or, in this case, hears it; it starts in his ears and curls around his spine and tries to find purchase inside him, the ethereal sound descending upon his body like a misty veil. Gladio calls a thousand metaphors to mind as he basks in the song and rejects each one in turn, his words blooming and withering in the same breath.

Someone else’s words might do. Keats, maybe? No, Frost. No…

“Siren. Shit,” Gladio murmurs to himself, and starts walking.

His body knows the way to the source of the song by instinct, a beacon blazing within him that points in a singular direction. Gladio gets the sense he _could_ turn back—the dulcet song resonates within him like a single plucked string of a harp, but its sharper claws can’t quite sink in the way they’re trying to. His curiosity has gotten the better of his judgement at this point. It ain’t every day he has the chance to encounter a creature as rare as himself, and he’s determined to follow the call.

There’s no path but the one inside Gladio to follow, which causes his progress to be slower than he’d like. Sturdy hiking boots make short work of the underbrush and various detritus of the forest floor. He has to almost crawl in places to follow the course set out for him, pushing aside thick branches to get by, thinner ones whipping back to make stinging passes at him as he goes forward. There’s too much natural clutter for stealth to be viable, but he tries anyway as he gets closer to the source, the magic working itself to a fever pitch with each step.

As Gladio makes his way into the nearby clearing, mist hangs in air like a sparkling prismatic spray. The path has taken him right to the waterfall, its churning roil throwing water and sound in every direction like the roar of his craving for blood at its peak. The notes of the song are louder still, cutting through every other noise in his perception like a bright knife. New sensations tug at him, the most noticeable of which is all too familiar.

Desire. Desire so savage it sends all of Gladio’s borrowed blood spiraling south, a desire that peaks to a furious apex as he lays eyes on the singer itself.

He’s read about Sirens during an exploration of the university’s renowned collection of supernatural texts, but none of that knowledge prepares Gladio for seeing one firsthand. Gladio assumed despite the throaty depth of the song that the Siren would be female—they usually are—but this one is most definitely, exquisitely male.

Gladio’s eyes are drawn to the wings of the creature, stretched back behind him in their full, glorious span. The feathers look as though they could be crafted from metal for how sharp and glinting they are in the light of sunrise. If it were a normal bird, Gladio would describe the colour of the primary feathers as emeralds and the secondary as topaz, or maybe burnished brass, overlaid atop one another in the centre as the colours transition. Once he can tear his gaze from the marvelous display of plumage, he takes stock of other features as best he can through the high of the song.

While mostly humanoid, the Siren’s naked limbs have a sharp angularity to them that speak to their otherworldly, avian nature. Bony, forest green plates—cartilage, maybe—start around his knees and extends to the long, wickedly sharp talons that dig into the moist ground below them. He’s so thin that Gladio can make out the vertebrae in his spine at this distance. With his back to Gladio, he can’t make out much of the front at all, but the same gorgeous plating trails along one lifted arm like an archipelago of islands, equally sharp talons clutched in a dark fist. 

A sweet hitch in a drawn out note echoes through Gladio’s body and makes him gasp aloud, a reflex from his long practice of making expected, human reactions in his line of work. It’s weird enough to have a daywalking vampire for a professor, let alone one that doesn’t blink or breathe. The gasp must be enough to finally announce his presence, because the Siren whips around snake-like to face Gladio.

God, his _face_. It shouldn’t be as stunning as it is, but Gladio stands dumbstruck all the same despite the cessation of the song. Even though one thin, hard lip is curled back in a snarl, Gladio’s fascinated by the keenness of his cheekbones, the sweep of ash brown hair plastered to his forehead by the waterfall’s mist, and the softly glowing green eyes that are a little _too_ round for a human face. The teeth exposed by the snarl are all jagged points.

Before Gladio can say or do anything, there’s a surge of magic that tingles at the edges of his senses. His eyes stay trained on the Siren, but he can’t pinpoint the moment when he transforms from creature to man. He can only see a scattering of ghostly feathers, a sort of _melting_ of the Siren’s features, and then a human man stands before him.

A _stark naked_ human man, his limbs lithe and toned, arms curling around himself and body hunched over to preserve his modesty. Despite feeling foggy himself, Gladio has the decency to avert his eyes.

“Uh, hey,” Gladio says, raking a hand through his own shoulder length hair and finding it wet from the pervasive mist as well. 

“What are you and what are you doing here?” His accented voice is as lovely as a voice can be in comparison to the song Gladio was just subjected to. Disbelief and accusation drip from the question, but Gladio notes that he’s been asked what he is rather than who he is. Doesn’t matter—he’ll answer both.

“Name’s Gladio. I’m guessin’ you’re asking _what_ I am since I ain’t standing here all drooly idiot, begging for you to take my soul. Tell you what—” Gladio pauses and shrugs out of his long leather jacket, sticking one tattooed arm out in the vague direction of the Siren, “How ‘bout you put this on and tell me your name, then I’ll tell you why I’m out this way.”

Gladio stands with his fist extended so long that he thinks the Siren might have run off, especially since it’s hard to hear over the waterfall. But soon the weight of the jacket disappears from his hand and, after allowing for an appropriate amount of time for the Siren to cover himself, he speaks again.

“You decent? I’m used to naked—comes with having a bunch of asshole shifter friends—but I ain’t trying to make you uncomfortable,” Gladio asks.

“I am,” the Siren says. After a pause, he adds, “You may call me Ignis.” In his human form, he’s still damn handsome, although Gladio thinks he might prefer the Siren form more—the novelty, probably. He watches Gladio with a wary cast to his features, suspicion lurking in the depths of sea green eyes. The jacket he holds closed around himself falls just to the tops of his lean thighs. In any other set of circumstances Gladio would admire the sight of it draped around such a gorgeous guy.

“Okay, Ignis. Sorry about barging in on your performance. I didn’t mean to startle you,” Gladio says, half-leaning and half-sitting against a nearby boulder. “I’ve been coming out here to hunt for ages and haven’t seen so much as another soul around, human or not, so you can imagine my surprise this morning.” He shoots the Siren what he hopes is a charming grin and leans forward.

After a considered pause where Ignis’s eyebrows draw low and together on his face, his gaze flits back to Gladio. “A daywalker, then, given the fangs and the fact that you’re neither a drooling idiot nor a pile of ash.”

“Yeah, you got it. You’re pretty quick on the uptake, huh?”

“Flattery will get you nowhere, I’m afraid. I’m quite used to the admiration of the masses,” Ignis replies, but there’s a teasing note underneath the truthfulness of his admission.

“I ain’t tryin’ to flatter you. Believe me, you’d know it if I were. I’m only curious because I’ve never met a Siren before,” Gladio says, which is mostly the truth. He’s utterly fascinated by the creature before him, but he doesn’t want to scare him off.

“If that’s some sort of allusion to the vampiric ability to charm humans, you’ll find I’m rather immune to that as well,” Ignis says with a delightful smirk.

As if the smirk weren’t bad enough, a crosswind picks up and coasts across Gladio’s skin, carrying with it the alluring scent of blood. The scent has an _other_ to it, like iron-tinged kisses in the dark of night, that pulls at Gladio as surely as the song did. If he hadn’t already fed at length the previous night, it’d be enough to drag his craving up in all of its parched ferocity. It nearly drives him to his knees as is—Gladio thanks God he doesn’t need to breathe as he waits for the moment to pass. 

“How interesting,” Ignis remarks in a clinical tone, bringing himself—and the scent—closer. “Vampires aren’t usually affected by my song _or_ my blood, yet here you are affected by both.”

“You always an ass about the effect you have on someone, or is it just my lucky day?” Gladio asks, trying not to inhale too much air as he speaks.

One slim finger comes to rest under Gladio’s chin and applies the barest suggestion of pressure. Gladio can’t help put look upward, drawn into Ignis’s gaze like he’s been drawn into everything else about the man. Creature. Siren.

“It’s just your lucky day all around, I believe,” he whispers, and then his mouth is on Gladio’s, unbearably soft. 

This is not the turn of events he or his body expects, and as a result Gladio freezes, unsure of the next step to take. Then Ignis’s tongue laves across the outside of his lips, warm and bringing with it a sweet scent that makes Gladio’s mind go blank at the edges. He reaches up and crushes their mouths together harder, deepening the kiss, relishing in the feel of their tongues sliding against one another. Gladio’s embarrassed to hear himself moan into the kiss before he can stop himself, his desire climbing faster than it has any right to, magic spurring it onward past its mortal limit. 

Right as he’s about to reach for Ignis and bury his face in the pale curve of his neck, he steps away, teal eyes glittering. 

“Your degree of control is quite admirable. Well done,” Ignis says, patting Gladio on the shoulder. “Now, if you’ll excuse me,” he continues, pausing to glance at the sun climbing in the sky, “I have a prior engagement to make.”

Gladio leans heavily on the rock, unable to do anything but attempt to regain his fractured composure. The Siren—Ignis—sashays out of the clearing and out of Gladio’s sight. By the time he collects his wits enough to think about following him, every trace of him is gone, from scent to sound. If he were as fast as full-fledged vampires, he might be able to catch up to him, but he’s not. Disappointment and awe tangle up in his chest as he stares at the break in the treeline that Ignis disappeared into.

And then it hits him.

“Fuck. That was my favourite jacket.”

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading if you made it this far! Comments and kudos are always greatly appreciated if you feel up to it.
> 
> Come find me on [Tumblr](http://aliatori.tumblr.com/) and [Twitter](https://twitter.com/AliatoriEra) for more Gladnis/FFXV screaming.


End file.
